


My Name Is Takahiro

by FairyLights101



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dysphoria, Future Fic, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Past Suicide Attempt, Self-Harm, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 11:30:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9655094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FairyLights101/pseuds/FairyLights101
Summary: My name is Takahiro. My name is Takahiro, my name is Takahiro, my name isTakahiro.His hand hesitated over his thigh, trembling as he stared down.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This piece is explicit in its description of self-harm and dysphoria and has multiple references to a previous suicide attempt. It is intended to be a personal piece to get my feelings out and nothing more.

_ Not this. Not today. Not on top of everything else.  _

Takahiro’s hands trembled as he pressed them to his face, eyes blank, glued to his underwear. To the blood-stained part of the fabric. His chest felt tight, fluttery, left him breathless as he pulled his limbs in close with a shuddering breath. “Why now?” he croaked. No response from his underwear. His heart thumped heavily in his chest, beating unsteadily. His stomach flipped, twisted, and he drew in a shuddering breath. Another. 

Takahiro rose and shoved his pants, socks, and underwear off in a rush, body trembling violently as he did so. He ripped his shirt off, hesitated on his binder, fingers hooked on the bottom edge. Tremors worked their way up his spine, puffing out exhales that were too quick, too strained. Amber eyes clenched shut as he wrestled the binder off, dropped it to the floor, and stepped into the shower. He cranked it up, cold water smacking his back before it warmed, steam curling through the air. Takahiro sank to the floor, couched on the balls of his feet until even that was too much and he fell back onto his ass. Knees pulled in, tight against his chest. Arms wound across, hands clutching as fingers bit into his skin. 

Water cascaded onto his head and back, running down his arms, his spine, blisteringly hot. It stung, but he couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe, couldn’t  _ think. Why? Why did it have to happen today?  _ Because being called a girl wasn’t enough. Because hearing his own voice and wanting to never speak again wasn’t enough. Because the ever-present need to rip his skin off  _ wasn’t fucking enough.  _

Takahiro bit his lips, tangled his fingers into his hair as he rocked in place, body shaking with barely-contained sobs that burst out after a moment, too strong to contain.  _ Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop, make it stop-  _ A relentless, senseless mantra that beat through his head to the tempo of his heart. One that was totally useless. He could feel those  _ things _ on his chest pressed against his thighs, the  _ shit _ between his thighs. 

His toes curled against the tile as his nails bit in, harsh, unforgiving. The pain was  _ clear,  _ familiar. A hysterical laugh bubbled out as he dragged his nails down his arms and rocked back, water pounding across his face, mixing with the rush of tears. Takahiro jerked out from beneath the stream and shoved the shower door open, reaching and fumbling for his pants, painfully aware of his body. For the little pouch he'd tucked into his back pocket when he'd gotten home. 

Trembling fingers pried it open and upturned it, blades falling into his shaking palm. He stilled, a shuddering breath shaking him as he stared into the cradle of his hand, mental glinting tantalizingly.  _ I shouldn't do this. It'll hurt Issei. I shouldn't. It'll pass. I'll be okay. _

But the other thoughts were louder than the rational side, more forceful as tears trickled down his cheeks as he stared at the blades.  _ You're disgusting. They're all lying, they'll never see you as a man. You're just a disgusting freak. _ His eyes closed, hand balled into a fist.  _ I can't do this. It  _ hurts _ and I just can't do it, can't feel, can't breath. I can't- _

Takahiro shook his head. He pulled his arm into the shower, rose, and turned the stream of water off of him. It pounded against the side of the shower, loud, relentless. Takahiro sank back down, legs shaking. His chest hitched, then stilled as he drew in a breath. Another, slower. His heart thumped against his ribs as he pulled one blade from the pile in his hand and pressed it to his thigh where a collection of scars lay. A thumb brushed across one of the thicker scars, high on his thigh, dark against his skin. He couldn’t remember that night too clearly - there had been too many pills, too much blood, bright lights overhead as they stitched him shut and pumped his stomach. 

His tongue ran across his teeth as a breath shuddered out. The tightness in his chest snatched all his air away, left his head spinning faintly as he stared, blank. No longer quite connected to his body. Flawed, imperfect. Covered with reminders that  _ he _ would never be anything more than  _ she.  _ Marred by hundreds of marks from all the years he’d dragged his ass through. His grip tightened on the piece of metal.  _ I’m Takahiro. _

It sliced through his skin in one swift, sharp motion. A breath rattled out as his skin prickled, the faintest of burns teasing him. Blood welled up, stark against his pale skin. Familiar. That ache in his chest grew. He pressed the blade to the skin below. 

_ T _ _ hey’ll never see me as a man. My voice is too high. They can see those  _ things _ on me. I can’t fool anyone. I’m not Takahiro. I’m not a man.  _ Every thought had a jerk of his wrist paired with it, the skin splitting as water pounded on the wall beside him. Blood slipped down his leg, dripped onto the tiles. A wild smile curled his lips, shaking. Cold relief swept through his body, crashed through his head. Spun with the overwhelming hatred in his gut, taking off the bite. 

_ My name is Takahiro. I’m male. I’m Takahiro. I’m not a girl. I’m not a fucking girl. My name is Takahiro. My name is Takahiro, my name is Takahiro, my name is  _ Takahiro _.  _

His hand hesitated over his thigh, trembling as he stared down. Fresh cuts covered his thigh, too many to count. They’d started out straight, neat, but at some point they’d dissolved into senseless overlaps, deep and thick. And, higher on his leg, a few centimeters below his hip, was  _ “TAKAHIRO” _ , frantically,  _ viciously _ carved into his skin. His fingers quivered, brushed across the newly ruined flesh. 

Scarlet streamed down his thigh, mixed with the water and discolored it as it slipped across the tiles and swirled down the drain. His leg was a weird mix of feelings, numb yet burning dully all at once. Fingertips swept across the ridges in his skin, pressed in and forced more blood to well up as pain flared through his leg. Takahiro’s head lolled forward, chest twisted tight, and a giggle burst out, hysterical. Tears burned in his eyes as he cradled his hands to his chest, his entire body rocking and shaking as he rocked on the warm tile floors, steam swirling around him. 

_ I’msorryI’msorryI’msorry-  _

He thrust the blades out of the shower, freeing his hands to bury his fingers into his hair as he trembled, sharp laughter mixing with sobs that wracked him. He couldn’t feel, couldn’t think, couldn’t  _ breathe _ as he clutched at himself, rocking on the floor. Gasps punched through the rush of the water, scraped on his ears. His head thrashed from side to side as he curled in on himself, thigh twinging. 

And yet, despite all the guilt and anxiety that slammed in his chest, all he could really feel was  _ numb.  _ Blank as he stilled once more, sharp breaths and erratic heartbeat fading into the background as he dug his fingers into his leg.  _ I’m so stupid.  _ Stupid in how his “coping mechanism” left him numb and blank, worse than before. In how his phone lay on their bed, a dozen unread messages waiting on him. 

A low, wry laugh bubbled up. “I fucking hate myself,” he breathed. The only response he got was the water cooling a little. Takahiro stretched his leg out, let the water sprinkle across his bloody thigh. A soft breath pushed out, the next inhale almost impossible with the painful feeling coiled beneath his breastbone, crushing his lungs and heart. 

He hated his face, the cheeks too soft and rounded. Hated his voice, the way it sat far above the register it should, that he desperately wanted it to be - it couldn’t fool anyone. Just like the binder couldn’t, or the loose clothes he drowned himself in. Hips too wide, body fat and muscles in all the wrong places.  _ Bleeding out of a Goddamn body part he didn’t want.  _ The only thing he managed to have going for him was the height, but even then it wasn’t enough. Not enough to ease the unless hatred that twisted him like a fucking pretzle, left him huddled on the ground shivering and crying. 

Takahiro dragged in a shuddering breath, washed his hands off beneath the spray of water, and pressed them to his face. “Just concentrate,” he whispered to himself. “You’re alive. You’re breathing. You’re here. That’s  _ something _ .” 

A soft knock made him jolt and he slammed his arms to his chest as he stared through the frosted glass of the shower doors to the door, heart pounding, barely breathing. “Hiro?” Issei called, his deep voice laced with uncertainty. “Sweetheart… are you okay?” 

“I… yeah,” he croaked. 

A second of silence, then a whisper of fabric on the door. “Do you need anything?” 

“Ah…” His hands twisted against his chest, nails digging into his skin as his mind raced.  _ Bandages. Some alcohol for these. A tampon. Hormones. A sense of self-worth.  _ But he couldn’t ask for half of those.  _ Do I tell him? Should I tell him now? What’s he gonna-  _

“Takahiro?” He twitched, came back to himself. “Can… can I come in?” 

Takahiro tensed, body trembling. His fingers went down, brushed across his thigh. Down to the name carved into his skin. “Issei…” he said softly. He reached up. A second of fumbling and the water turned off. His throat worked. “Can you… bring me some clothes? And a... tampon or something? And… and some bandages?” 

With the water off, steam curling through the air, and only the drip of the faucet and and his own breathing filling his ears it was all too easier to hear the soft but sharp inhale. But Issei didn’t bust the door down, didn’t come in. Instead something whispered against the door, his fingers maybe. “Of course. Something loose?” 

“Please.” His footsteps faded away after a second and Takahiro sagged back against the shower wall, eyes fluttering shut. They snapped open a second later as panic flooded his throat. 

_ Shit, shit, shit.  _

Takahiro threw the shower door open and half-fell out. He scrabbled at the floor, plucked up each blade and stuffed them into their pouch. He shoved that back into his jeans and crawled back into the shower, heart pounding.  _ Stupid!  _ It didn’t matter, not really - Issei  _ knew.  _ He wasn’t an idiot. He’d been there through Takahiro’s countless breakdowns, had pried blades and pills from his shaking hands - had been the one to find him on the bathroom floor, veins sliced open and an empty pill bottle in his hand. But there was still  _ shame _ , cloying and thick. 

He wrapped his arms tight around his body, rocking slightly until the footsteps returned. Another knock, but this time he didn’t flinch. “Do you want me to come in? Or wait until you’re dressed?” 

“Dressed,” he whispered, just loud enough to be heard. 

The door cracked open and a handful of clothes and a towel were set inside. Takahiro rose slowly, legs unsteady, shaky in the knees, and he stepped out. He patted himself dry, eyes resolutely somewhere where he couldn’t see those  _ things _ as he did so. His thigh stung, but he bit his tongue and carried on. Issei had only brought a tighter but comfy sports bra, a loose shirt, and a pair of briefs with a pad and a tampon on top. No pants.  _ Of course. I can’t blame him.  _

Takahiro dressed quickly, tongue tight between his teeth, and he rapped on the door before he hoisted himself on the sink counter, legs dangling against the cabinets, and wrapped his arms around his body. 

“You okay?” 

“Yeah.”  _ As okay as I can be.  _

The doorknob twisted. A creak chased the door as it opened. Takahiro wasn’t sure he was breathing as Issei slipped in. He definitely couldn’t look him in the face, just hunched over and stared at the tops of his thighs, one covered in fresh cuts. One step. Two. Large, warm hands brushed across his knees, his elbows, curled around his biceps. Takahiro flinched, but all that came was the gentle brush of lips across his forehead with a quiet sigh. “I’m sorry,” Issei breathed as he moved up, chin settling on top of Takahiro’s head. 

He blinked. His fingers twitched. “ _ You’re _ sorry?” he whispered, voice cracking as he stared into Issei’s shirt, that silly ‘none pizza with left beef’ meme one Takahiro had given him for the last Christmas. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be here for you,” Issei continued, voice soothing in its low, soft timbre. Takahiro shivered, pressed closer. The fingers in his hair started to move, slowly stroking his scalp as Issei continued. “I know it’s hard, and even now I don’t understand… and I know it’s hard to remember that I’m here when things get really bad. I’m so sorry I couldn’t be here for you, that I couldn’t get out of work. But… I’m here now, okay?” Takahiro nodded, eyes burning. Those tender hands slid down, cupped his cheek, tipped his face up. Issei’s eyes were blood-shot, his cheeks pale. 

_ He’s been crying.  _

The realization was a blow to the gut and Takahiro’s mouth fell open, but no sound escaped him. He could only stare, chest twisting with guilt as Issei smiled sweetly, kissed the tip of his nose, and moved to the side to bustle in the cabinets. Takahiro watched as Issei set the rubbing alcohol, cotton pads, and bandages onto the sink. He tugged the briefs up, exposing his leg all the way to the hip, and watched as Issei’s eyes flickered over the wounds, his own stomach flipping as Issei’s face tightened with grief. But he didn’t say anything as he carefully poured some of the alcohol onto the cotton and dabbed at Takahiro’s skin. 

He started by the knee, slowly working his way up, hesitating with every hiss and flinch Takahiro made. But he pushed on and Takahiro tried to hold himself still, fingers shaking against his arms as he watched. Higher and higher, up to where the careful order had fallen to shambles and the marks overlapped. Further still until his fingers brushed across those characters rendered into his skin. No words broke the silence. He wordlessly a rubbed at the spot, the alcohol stinging as it met the deep cuts. Issei raised Takahiro’s leg a little as he gathered the gauze. With Takahiro’s ankle hooked over Issei’s thigh, braced against the counter, he managed to wrap his leg with careful movements that were too practiced, too familiar. He secured the gauze in place, washed his hands in silence. The sink turned off. 

Takahiro twisted, closed his hands around Issei’s face, hands shaking violently. “Seisei…” his voice cracked, pitiful, and he swallowed hard, licked his lips. “I don’t… I don’t know how to apologize.” 

His partner stared at him for a long moment before a weak smile spread across his lips. “Hiro, baby,” he breathed as his hands rose to cup Takahiro’s cheeks. “I understand. I know it’s hard. You don’t have to apologize. Just promise me you’ll try to talk to me next time, okay? I’m here for you. Forever.” 

Takahiro’s throat was dry, his eyes prickling all over again. He sniffed, nodded, pushed his fingers back into those thick curls and the soft undercut. He leaned in and dropped his face into Issei’s neck with a shuddering breath. “I love you.” 

“I love you too,” Issei murmured into his hair. “You don't have to talk now, but-” 

“Carry me to bed?” he interrupted quietly, grip on Issei's hair tightening. “Because I… should talk. To you. About… yeah.” 

Issei didn't say anything for a moment before he nodded. His hands curled underneath Takahiro’s thighs, mindful of the bandaged one, and gently eased him off the counter and into his body. Takahiro's hands wound around his partner’s neck, clinging to him as slow, steady steps carried them out into the bedroom. Issei eased him down into the bed, smoothed his fingers along the sides of Takahiro's thigh, one tingling, burning, pulsating to the beat of his heart. “Do you want some sweats?” Takahiro hesitated, nodded. Issei smiled, sweet, reassuring, and kissed Takahiro's forehead before he pulled back. 

A pair of black sweats were,pressed into Takahiro's palms and he cradled it to his chest for a moment before he sighed and slowly pulled them on, then scooted back on the bed, pulling on the sheets until he slipped beneath them and settled on his side. Issei watched, his eyes impossibly soft, before he crawled into bed too, upright unlike Takahiro. He didn’t care though. He just latched onto his partner, buried his face into that nice-smelling shirt and took a slow, deep breath as his fingers curled into the fabric. Issei’s hands settled on him too, one stroking through his hair in soothing, rhythmic circles, the other overtop one of his hands. Takahiro closed his eyes with a quiet sigh. Issei’s light grip tightened slightly, reassuring. He smiled faintly. “Y’know, I’ve been doing so well.” 

“You have been,” Issei said softly, “So having a slip up is understandable and okay. It happens.” 

“Frustrating,” he mumbled. 

Issei laughed, ruffled his hair. The sound loosened the tightness in Takahiro’s chest, made him warm as he pressed back into the touch. “Yeah,” Issei hummed, “It’s definitely that. But… this is the first time in six months you shut me out. That you had that a bad disconnect. And three months since you last hurt yourself. That’s  _ something,  _ yeah? And I couldn’t be more proud of you.” 

Takahiro’s grip on his shirt tightened. He blinked rapidly against the faint burn, swallowed thickly. “Proud?” It was a pitiful whisper, breathed into the space between Issei’s soft stomach and thigh. 

His boyfriend’s fingers made a slow circle on his scalp, stroked the back of his hand. “Of course. You’re getting better. It takes time, especially since this is so hard. But you’re trying your best, and that’s all I could ask for.” 

Takahiro twisted on Issei’s lap, peering up at him with wide eyes. Slowly he released Issei’s shirt and turned his hand so that their palms slid together, fingers intertwining. “You sure?” 

“Positive,” Issei said with a smile and a squeeze to Takahiro’s fingers.

He managed a weak smile back and pulled their hands closer as he turned his head, focused on the wall. “It’s just been a rough week,” he whispered. Issei thumbed his temple, encouraging. “I… it’s frustrating, going around campus and  _ knowing _ that no one is going to see me for  _ Takahiro.  _ Even now it’s hard to correct people, and some of them just don’t care. It’s… overwhelming sometimes. And - like, I get it. You ‘n Tooru, Hajime, all the others… you guys don’t care. I’m Takahiro to you. I’m a  _ guy _ to you. But sometimes… it’s just not enough. I want  _ everyone _ to stop seeing me as a girl.” 

When there was no response for a few moments he glanced up, uncertain, and found eyes on him, thoughtful, focused. “Well,” Issei said slowly, “Think about it like this. It may feel like it’s not much, but it’s a building block. Foundations for a house. Gotta have a good foundation so it doesn’t crumble down later, agreed?” He nodded. Issei smiled, shoulders shaking with silent laughter as he shook his head. “It’s a bad analogy, but it’s something. But yeah, gotta have your foundation. Just think - soon you’ll start testosterone. That’s a _ huge _ step to make you feel better. And in a year or two you’ll be able to get top surgery. You’re  _ so close.  _ Remember back in high school, or middle school, when you thought you’d never get this far? This close?” 

Takahiro sniffled quietly and nodded as he pressed his face into Issei’s stomach. The laugh that bubbled out at that, Issei’s body hitching beneath him, made Takahiro  _ warm,  _ and he pressed himself even closer, clinging to his sweet warmth. Pressed close like that, buried beneath blankets and with Issei wrapped around him, it was easy to let the tension escape him, bit by bit. Exhaustion stole in, heavy in his bones and eyes. Takahiro yawned, shifted a little. “Can I sleep here?” he mumbled into Issei’s thigh. 

His boyfriend laughed quietly again. “Yeah, of course. I’ll wake you up in a bit.” 

“Mm…” 

Takahiro curled the blankets tighter around his body, pulled Issei’s hand into his chest, right overtop his heart. It thumped beneath, as steady and sure as Issei. The fingers in his hair never stopped moving, their path lazy and meandering, lulling him into a daze as his eyes fluttered shut. 

He dimly felt when those fingers wandered down, brushed against his thigh. Traced the gauze strips with a sort of lingering sadness that made his heart twist. But they returned to his head a moment later, along with a soft murmur Takahiro barely heard as he slipped into sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know if writing this helped or not, but here it is.  
> Comments are great, you should leave one.  
> Hit me up at [fairylights101writes](http://fairylights101writes.tumblr.com/)


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